


Harry Takes the Field

by bratfarrar



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratfarrar/pseuds/bratfarrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry trudged to Agincourt, ankle-deep in mud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Takes the Field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Map of the World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733861) by [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis). 
  * Inspired by [It's the Stars That Lie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2033814) by [seperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis). 



Harry trudged to Agincourt, ankle deep  
in mud, and wistful, weary, thought of sleep;  
thought of crowns and souls, and old life-goals told  
to empty rooms when he was young and brash.  
The world still thought him young, beguiled by gold  
and trinkets made of names. Names are just ash,  
he’d learned, had taught himself, but writ in blood  
they thicken, may be set and shaped like mud.  
But spilt in love it must be, willingly,  
and for a cause near-just (but only near—  
for mortal men justice runs crookedly  
as any crab). He held his soldiers dear,  
like children, brothers, even as he spent  
their lives like coin.  
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. The royal French, they bent  
the weight of all their bitter scorn on him,  
and vowed they’d eat his heart where all could see,  
would drive his army down into the grim  
shadow of the grave. Surely victory,  
they said (and all the world with them agreed)  
must go to those with strength, with eager steed  
and arms still fresh, not yet worn down like teeth  
on sand or bone. The outcome’s known. Why try?  
Return your rusty sword to battered sheath,  
bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why  
take the field when you cannot win the war?  
But Harry— _he_ went down to Agincourt.


End file.
